


The Person You'd Take a Bullet For (is Behind The Trigger)

by SadieHerondale



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Pack, Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Stiles, Dark Magic, Derek Hale is Stiles Stilinski's Anchor, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Derek is Loyal af, Derek is a Good Alpha, Derek is a Good Boyfriend, Derek is a Good Friend, Desperate times call for desperate measures, Dubious Morality, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Isaac Feels, Kidnapped Derek, Loss of Control, Loyalty, M/M, Mating Bond, Pack Feels, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Sad Isaac, Scott McCall is a Bad Alpha, Scott is a Bad Friend, Stiles is bipolar AF, at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5286665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadieHerondale/pseuds/SadieHerondale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The road to hell is paved with good intentions, but until he gets Derek back, Stiles' actions are going to be worse than bad. And he <em>will</em> get Derek back, come hell or high water.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Person You'd Take a Bullet For (is Behind The Trigger)

**Author's Note:**

> No love for Scott here. I dislike him as a character as well as a protagonist (because we're supposed to like him for no other reason than that he's the protagonist; he doesn't have a single redeeming characteristic in my book) and I could rant about that for days so here's some good old fashioned Scott Hate/Sterek Love/Pack Feels. Didn't mean to throw Lydia under the bus there, but I'll live. :)
> 
> Come find me on tumblr: @look-im-just-trash

He isn't a good little boy anymore, he won't deny that; he's seen too much, been through too much to be that person ever again. But he's hardly one of the monsters Scott pretends to fight (Stiles does all the work, really; Scott's too averse to violence to actually accomplish anything). His methods are effective and keep the town safer than the diplomacy Scott keeps attempting. All diplomacy ever accomplishes is getting people killed. Stiles is more than happy to let Scott try, but he always cuts in before anything regrettable happens.

" _Lig go craiceann gan a bheith sracadh. Ní  chuid fola gan aon mharc. Cé go buille siad dó , a ligean ní bhraitheann air pian. Ná lig a chnámha a bhriseadh agus, áfach, iarracht iad, A mhilleadh air Lig dó riamh bás. Lig dó riamh bás! Lig go craiceann nach a torn. Lig fág chuid fola gan aon--_ Dammit! This isn't doing any good."

Stiles sags against the wall, frustrated and angry. This was his best bet, and it isn't showing any signs of working. But if Stiles doesn't get Derek back from them, he's going to war. Childhood memories be damned, he would wreck havoc on everything in his way. Including Scott and his pack.

Stiles is familiar with low blows. He's dealt a few of them himself, most notably with the centuries-old faerie child a few months ago when he struck a deal with Mab to get her banished for a past dalliance with a certain werewolf named Peter Hale. This is one of the lowest things Scott could have resorted to: taking Derek and giving Stiles an ultimatum to _"_ Be less trigger-happy or we'll have to break the bond between you two," knowing very well that that could kill one or both of them.

That was two hours ago now, and it was the first time Stiles has ever felt the urge to inflict bodily harm on his best friend.

Fís perches on his shoulder with a soft, longing chirp. Stiles strokes his familiar's feathers lightly. "I know. I miss him too."

An idea strikes him; the pack doesn't know about Fís yet, couldn't possibly know that Stiles' familiar is a sparrow. They don't even know he's powerful enough to have a physical familiar. He holds out a finger and the little bird moves to perch there reluctantly. She's a piece of his soul, after all; she has to miss Derek as much as he does, and neither of them have ever taken kindly to being told what to do. She's incredibly smart, which always makes Stiles preen a little-- his intelligence isn't just a front, then --and very in tune with his spark. Her name means vision, which is apt enough. She's excellent at discovering threats and warned Stiles about Scott ahead of time. Stupidly, he didn't believe her, didn't want to believe that Scott could do anything to hurt him intentionally.

He lifts her so that they're eye level. "I need you to be my eyes. If we're going to get him back, you have to find him, Fís. You can bitch me out for not listening to you after he's home."

Fís just nods and stares at him with her beady eyes, waiting for him to finish. She's not speaking to him, that much is clear.

" _Bí mo shúile_ ," he murmurs. Fís flies out the open window and Stiles turns to face the mirror in the corner. The surface shimmers before settling to a literal bird's-eye-view of Beacon Hills. He's seeing what Fís is seeing, because the first step to getting Derek back will be finding him.

**~oOo~**

"Was the duct tape really necessary?"

"Well he bit through four gags already, Erica, and when we didn't cover his mouth he wouldn't stop howling. Do you have any other ideas?"

Derek glares at them all, flashing his eyes blue and growling through the tape. Isaac flinches slightly; he's not afraid of Derek, hasn't been for years, but he is very afraid of what's going to happen if he gets out. He hadn't wanted to separate him from Stiles. Separating mates can be a dangerous thing, especially when the bond runs as deep as it does between Stiles and Derek. But they were getting out of hand and Scott doesn't see another option so Isaac goes along with his alpha for the time being.

When the majority of the pack leaves to strategize, they leave Isaac and Boyd to guard Derek. Not that it'll do much good if Stiles does manage to find them. Isaac might be the only member of the pack that's pretty sure they haven't seen the man at full power yet.

There's a slight movement in Isaac's peripheral vision catches his attention. A bird is sitting in the open window, cocking its head at Isaac. It looks for all the world as though it's examining him, so he approaches it slowly, prepared for it to fly away as birds always have. But it doesn't. It hops onto his outstretched hand and up his arm, perching on his shoulder like it belongs there. Boyd just watches with a small smile on his face. He's as against this whole thing as Isaac is, not that Scott's aware, so he's probably as happy as Isaac that something good is happening.

Derek raises an eyebrow when Isaac comes back into his line of sight. "What?" Isaac asks wryly. "Is it so unusual to see that a bird likes me?" Derek rolls his eyes and shakes his head. The bird flutters its wings, but stays put. Isaac decides that his new friends needs a name. "I think I'll name you... Mara."

Derek's judgy eyebrow raises even further, but doesn't try to speak. He just closes his eyes and stops fidgiting. Isaac hopes that it's because he's decided to stop fighting, but he knows better than that. He knows Derek better than that. He hasn't given up, he's had an idea and is waiting for the best time to enact it. And, knowing Derek, it's not going to end well for any of them.

Mara seems to be chewing (as much as a bird can chew without teeth) on one of Isaac's curls. He reaches up and pets her with his index finger, trying to figure out what Derek could be thinking.

Then he notices something. The color in Derek's face is returning faster than it should be, given that he was knocked out with a bat coated in wolfsbane and then bound with wolfsbane ropes. He looks almost healthy, and it hasn't even been three hours when it should have taken him days.

"Uh, Scott?" Isaac says at normal volume. The muttering in the next room stops immediately and the alpha walks in with Lydia in tow. Hs stance is tense with stress. "Derek's healing a little too fast, don't you think?"

Boyd blinks and peers at the man. "I hadn't even noticed, but he's right."

Scott looks at Lydia for her input, which of course she's already giving in the form of a name. "Stiles."

Derek's eyes open and his face contorts into what would be a snarl if there wasn't duct tape covering it. He looks at Isaac with something like betrayal, and it sends daggers into his soul. Derek saved him from his father, gave him this new life, this new family that would never hurt him and this is how Isaac is repaying him.

"--some serious magic." Lydia is still talking. "This is the type of thing most witches only dream about."

"Wait, what? I zoned out for a second."

Lydia looks at him sharply. "I don't know exactly what he did, but if Derek is immune to wolfsbane now..."

"He's basically invulnerable." Scott runs a hand through his hair. "God, Stiles actually thinks we're going to _hurt_ him."

"You _were_." Isaac doesn't know why he chose now, of all the times, to inform Scott of his own blindness, but he's already started so he may as well finish. "You separated them. You beat and bound him with wolfsbane. You were going to take away the last thing either of them has left and possibly kill them in the process. You were most definitely going to _hurt_ him, Scott, and the only reason we went along with it was because you're the alpha."

Mara startles at his sudden outburst and flutters around before returning to her place on his shoulder and resuming her hair chewing. It seems almost affectionate now, like she's proud of him.

Lydia and Scott are a little surprised, as if they're just noticing Isaac's new friend, before looking properly ashamed of themselves. It was Lydia's plan, after all, and Scott enacted it. They both share some of the responsibility and a large part of his anger.

"You're right," Boyd says, startling all of them. "but it's not like we can just give him back and apologize. It won't be like nothing ever happened. Stiles is out for blood now."

**~oOo~**

"Damn straight," Stiles mutters. He turns his attention away from the mirror and onto his spellbook. It's less of a book, actually, and more of a stapled-together pile of Deaton's notes mixed in with his own. The real spellbooks are in the trunk in the corner, and he only pulls those out when things get ugly.

Now that he thinks about it... He pulls out a couple of volumes and starts poring over them, the Celtic like a second language. _Spells are like recipe books,_ he thinks, feeling the power thrumming through his veins. _Just memorize the recipe and you've got yourself one kickass piece of magic. It's that simple._

Even though it's really not. It's a lot more complicated than that, in so many ways, but Stiles likes to believe that once you've mastered the basics, the rest comes naturally. It's a view that's always worked for him, if not for Lydia. He snorts. Lydia's always been a by-the-book learner, and look how well that served her: Stiles is quite possibly the most powerful sorcerer on the west coast and she's the emissary to a wolf pack that refuses to defend its own territory. She refuses to admit it, of course, but she wishes she was in Stiles' league. He could flatten her with a thought.

It's only another ten minutes before he has the spells he needs from the books: nothing lethal, but very, very powerful. Derek is gonna be really pissed when he gets home and sees that Stiles has been using dark magic, but pissed-Derek he can deal with. Not-here-Derek, well... That's not an option. He risks a glance back to the mirror and is appalled by what he sees: Fís has abandoned her spot on Isaac's shoulder for what Stiles assumes is a windowsill. Isaac is nowhere to be seen, but _Scott--_ lovable, huggable, anti-violence _Scott_  --is wearing leather gloves and attempting to cut into Derek's arm with a sharpened sprig of wolfsbane. It's not working, but Stiles doesn't think he's been this angry in his entire life. He mutters a spell under his breath and is in the Lahey basement in a nanosecond. He moves in front of Derek, shielding him from the poisonous plant.

Now, normally, he's not one for teleportation. It's too flashy and takes too much energy and is just so overdramatic that he doesn't tend to bother. But he needs to get to Derek _now_ , and this is the best way. The looks on Scott and Lydia's faces are just a bonus.

"What exactly," Stiles asks, deadly quiet, "do you think you're doing there, _bro_?"

Scott gapes at him as the pack rushes in on high alert. He drops the wolfsbane. Everyone in the room (bar Derek, of course; he knew Stiles was coming for him) is looking at him with barely concealed terror.

"Impossible," Lydia mutters to herself. "I warded the place, you shouldn't have been able to-- _mph!_ " Stiles silences her with no more than a look and a half second of focused energy. He grins at the pack amicably. He isn't even all that threatening-looking, really. He's wearing jeans and a red hoodie and has his hands in his kangaroo pocket. But they're all looking at him like he's holding nuclear launch codes.

"I wasn't able to find you, if that's what you were gonna say, Lyds. Well, not directly. Fís," he calls softly. His familiar flies over and lands on his shoulder. "You did great," he tells her.

"Of course I did," she snaps. "No thanks to you."

Isaac looks at his new friend, bug-eyed. "You can _talk_?"

"Stiles, introduce me dammit. I liked that one." Fís ruffles her feathers and winks at Isaac. The poor kid looks like he's about to pass out; werewolves are apparently no problem, but _talking birds..._ somebody grab an EMT!

He shrugs. "Everyone, this is Fís. My familiar."

Lydia and Scott are looking at them with wide, terrified eyes. It's clear that they, at least, understand the implications of Stiles having a familiar on the physical plane. _The implications_ , he _thinks venomously, are that I can and will kick your backstabbing asses._

"Also known as Stiles' better, smarter self," Fís chirps.

Stiles wants to flick her, but that'll hurt him too. "This sassy little piece of work is how I found you. Windows are a bird's best friend, you know."

A pointed cough reminds him that Derek is still tied up behind him. He twitches his nose, because he's always been a sucker for cliches, and his mate stands up and stretches. "Took you long enough."

"Sorry, lover, I had other priorities after I knew you were safe," Stiles doesn't let his gaze veer away from the pack, who are still frozen in front of them, but Fís flies over to land on Derek's shoulder. "Namely, the traitors who decided to take you away from me."

On the word traitors, Stiles lets loose a burst of dark energy, lifting everyone up into the air by their throats. Fear is useful, he thinks, It freezes people, makes their minds go blank in terror, and makes them so, so easy to attack. And the pack is absolutely petrified by him.

" _Ní bheidh Iad siúd a bhfuil dochar dom agus mianach a fheiceáil ar an solas lómhar na gréine arís. Ní mór dóibh siúd a bhfuil éagóir orm íoc as a gcuid peacaí in aghaidh na Is breá liom?_ " As he chants, he can feel the energy in the room spiral out and attach to each pack member except one. He lowers Isaac to the ground gently and releases his hold on the boy.

"Wh--" he chokes out. Derek darts forward and gathers him in his arms before retreating back behind Stiles. Derek shushes him as Stiles keeps chanting.

"Translate, Derek," Stiles says before continuing his chant. The pack is entirely encased in black smoke, impossible to see even to wolf senses. Stiles wants him to know, to understand that he's being spared. That he's being given a choice.

He wants to keep Isaac.

**~oOo~**

Derek is pissed; that much, at least, Isaac can figure out. It reeks in here of anger and hatred and fear, and most of it is coming from Stiles. And Derek. To him, they're one and the same, StilesAndDerek. DerekAndStiles. Each feels the same as the other. They're almost the same person, yet so very different. Stiles is chanting in

"Translate, Derek," Stiles growls, mid-chant.

Isaac half expects Derek to growl and tell Stiles to stop, but he just sighs and sets him down. Isaac's eyes are fixed on Stiles, but he can feel Derek's hands on his shoulders, his voice close to his ear. " _'Those who will not harm me and mine are to see the precious light of the sun again. Must those who have wronged me pay for their sins against the one I love?'_ "

Stiles' eyes cloud over, darker than night and more terrifying than anything Isaac has ever faced. Sparks fly through the fog holding his pack and he hears a howl: Boyd's.

" _Ní mór dóibh._ "

Derek's voice cracks a little. " _'They must.'_ "

 _This_ , Isaac thinks, _This is what Stiles will do to save Derek. He'll burn down the world and then char the ashes if he has to. I told Scott. I told him. Stiles and Derek are more of a pack than we'll ever be, if Scott keeps making decisions that don't keep us safe._

Mara-- Fís, he reminds himself --hops fro Derek's shoulder to Isaac's. "We're not going to kill them," she murmurs. "They need to be taught a lesson for taking away our mate. You didn't go along willingly, so Stiles is keeping you out of it. We care about you a lot, Isaac."

"He never..."

"It's because I care about you. Stiles and Mara aren't he caring types since Scott..." Derek trails off.

Mara chirps a little when electricity crackles in the black cloud and Stiles laughs. Derek curses, tightening his grip on Isaac momentarily before he lets go altogether and walks toward Stiles, who's yelling something in a language he doesn't understand. Isaac can hear the screaming of his pack members, can only watch as Derek tries to bring Stiles back from whatever dark place he's gone to. He's just now noticing Fís chanting under her breath in English, lending Stiles power. _Far from Heaven, righteous Hell, let those who wronged me wrong themselves. All those aiding in my love's harm will feel our hurt themselves and regret the pain they caused. My pain increased sevenfold, my love's increased by nine, may--_

The chanting stops abruptly, but the energy in the room persists. The black fog crackles, alive with dark magic. The same dark magic Stiles swore never to use, years ago. Derek is there by Stiles' side. He's a fixture, to Isaac. There's never one without the other and right now, that's a really good thing because Derek seems to be talking him down from the edge of an abyss he might not ever come back from. It's terrifying, the fact that he'll go this far for Derek. This is the kind of love that starts wars, the kind that ends worlds, Isaac thinks. Scott was a moron to mess with it.

"I'm okay, see?" Derek is saying quietly to Stiles. "No harm done, your spell worked. If you keep this up you're gonna kill them, Stiles."

 **"They deserve it."** Stiles' voice is barely his own anymore, marred by rage and power and hatred. **"They deserve all of it and more."**

Derek outs a hand on his shoulder, entirely unafraid and secure in the knowledge that Stiles would never hurt him. "Maybe they do. But does Isaac? Does he deserve to watch his pack die for an alpha's mistake, Stiles?"

The fog dissipates a little bit, enough that Isaac can just barely see the others suspended in midair, writhing in pain. "They took you away from me. They were ungrateful and don't like my methods so they took you away and tried to **hurt you!"** The fog solidifies again, to Isaac's dismay, but Derek keeps talking.

"And if you keep this up, you prove them right," he says, more gently than Isaac has every heard him speak before. "I'm okay. You protected me, you showed them your power, they won't mess with you again, Stiles. I need you to calm down because if you do this, you'll break the mating bond yourself."

It's only now that Isaac sees the pain Derek is in and remembers what he read about dark magicians once: they live alone. They cut all ties and break any and all bonds to their past lives. They become servants to darkness, no more.  He pulls on reserves of courage he didn't even know he had before now. "Stiles!"

StilesAndDerek looks at him, one in horror, one in apathy. He can see the fear in Derek's eyes, the clear message of  _what the fuck are you doing?_

"You're hurting Derek, and if you keep this up, you could kill him."

If there was one thing he could have possibly said to break the trance, that was it. Stiles freezes in his tracks, his black eyes widened in horror.  **"I would never hurt Derek."**

Isaac puts his hands up in a placating gesture, seeing Derek flinch away from Stiles for an instant. "I know you wouldn't. Not on purpose. We all know that. But you  _are_. Look at him, Stiles. Your magic is breaking the mating bond, and I know that's not what you want to do."

He can see the black fog lessen again, this time substantially. Stiles' eyes clear up, but his gaze is still vacant. "It's... It's not what I..."

Derek cuts in, letting the pain in his voice show. "Then don't."

**~oOo~**

The last thing Stiles remembers is starting his spell, telling Derek to translate for Isaac. When he wakes up, he's in bed. At home. Fís is asleep on the nightstand and he can smell bacon from downstairs. He tries to use magic to enhance his senses, but a crippling pain rips through him. He grits his teeth and groans.

When it subsides, he's sweating and panting. "What the--"

"You exhausted yourself," Derek says, leaning against the doorframe. He has his arms crossed and is looking at Stiles disapprovingly. "That stunt you pulled nearly killed us both, and used up most of your energy to boot."

Stiles expected this. He'd even looked forward to it, and it  _was_ better than Derek not being here at all, but it still stings. "I couldn't lose you," he mutters.

Derek sighs and walks over, sitting on the bed. "You wouldn't have. I would have found a way out, like I always do. You didn't need dark magic."

"I was mad." He picks at a loose thread in the sheets.  _Mad_ is an understatement. Stiles was livid, still is, but at the moment he can't do anything about it. It's one of the biggest taboos in the supernatural world, worse even than necromancy: mates are off-limits. Even if your enemy killed your entire family slowly and brutally in front of you, you don't go after their mating bond. It's the coward's way out, a way of dealing with someone without directly dealing with them; even the hunters won't be after Stiles after what Scott pulled. He always has been a coward.

"I don't want to be mad at you, Stiles. You know that." Derek envelopes him in a hug and Stiles melts. "But you scared the living shit out of us. Just promise me you won't do that again."

Angry tears prick his eyes. "If anyone tries to go after you again..."

"Even then." Derek grips Stiles' chin and forces him to look directly into his eyes. "I almost lost you too."

Stiles doesn't remember what happened, but the haunted look in his mate's eyes tells him enough. He almost lost the battle against the pull of dark magic. "Alright," he says finally.

He clings to Derek like a lifeline, needing to be sure that he's really _here_. He needs to know that the solid warmth he's holding isn't going to slip away again, needs to know that he really has _Derek_ and that he's not alone anymore because even though he was only alone for a few hours, they were the worst few hours of his life (and given his life, that's saying a hell of a lot). He's always known how much he needs Derek, but he's never realized what a mess he becomes without him.

"I love you," he murmurs into Derek's shirt. He's still angry, still a volatile cocktail of emotion, but he feels like it needs to be said. After all of this, he needs to reestablish the only constant in his life.

"I love you too, you stubborn ass." Derek sighs and gets up, dragging Stiles with him. "Fís, wake up. Food."

As they're heading down the stairs, he remembers something. "Who's cooking? I smelled bacon but you're up here. Oh god, please tell me you didn't just leave the stove going to come upstairs and bitch me out or the entire house is gonna catch fire and we're gonna die because I don't have all the magic zappy powers and shit I need to keep us alive and then I won't get to kiss you again and--"

He keeps rambling and Derek smiles a little. "I pulled out your Aderall too, since I know you didn't take it."

Stiles pouts as they enter the kitchen. He does a double take when he sees who's at the stove. Isaac looks at him and gives a tiny smile while he puts the last fried egg on one of the five plates on the counter. There's enough bacon, eggs, and toast set out to feed a small army. "The others are in the next room," Isaac says quietly, slowly. As if he's gauging the reaction.

Honestly, Stiles isn't sure  _how_ to react. Years of living side by side with a werewolf has taught him how to have a semi-decent handle on his emotions, though (bar this last time; face it, it's easier to keep secrets when there's not a super sensitive werewolf picking up on pheromones), so he simply shrugs, unwilling to pass judgement until he knows exactly who "the others" are and why they're here, exactly. 

Almost as if he's reading Stiles' mind, Derek puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. He looks proud, which makes Stiles want to preen. Luckily, Fís has that covered. She sits on his head and literally starts preening her feathers. Each of the quasi-humans in the room grabs a plate or two and walks into the foyer-- three years ago Stiles would have laughed at the idea of a foyer but damn if that room isn't useful --to feed the rest.

"The others" are Erica and Boyd, it seems. Their postures stiffen in barely concealed terror when they see Stiles. Guilt gnaws on him, though he doesn't remember what he did to them. He smiles at them a little, still not sure why they're here. He's holding two plates (Derek is the one with only one. He set this up, the bastard), so he holds one out to Erica. 

"Hungry, Catwoman?"

She takes the food from him hesitantly. Her nostrils flare almost imperceptibly; he wouldn't have even noticed, had he not spent years watching werewolf behavior. Boyd wraps a protective arm around her and Isaac hands him a plate of his own.

It's beyond awkward. There's no talking and the wolves eat even slower than the average human; all of them keep their eyes trained on Stiles, as if they're waiting for him to freak out and destroy them all. Stiles sits sandwiched between Derek and the side of the couch, Erica and Boyd directly across them and Isaac alone on the loveseat between the two couches. Fís flits between Stiles, Isaac, and Derek, pecking bits of food off of their plates. The tension is thick enough that Stiles could cut it with a knife and serve it with the bacon. He wishes he knew what he did to them, wishes he had any idea how to approach this without making it worse. He almost wishes he regretted doing it, but he doesn't. If Derek is safe, he'll gladly endure this and more. That doesn't mean he actually _has_ to endure it though, does it? There's a reason they're all here, after everything that's happened, and there's a reason Derek hasn't told him. This is Stiles' play. He has to deal with the consequences of the choices he made, though he's not sure if they're going to be positive or negative yet.

"So... How 'bout them Broncos?" he blurts out.

It's random and unexpected and just so very  _Stiles_ that everyone blinks. Derek rolls his eyes with unsurprised exasperation, Isaac seems to think he's lost his mind, Boyd just stares, and Erica holds back a snicker.

"I don't know why I'm surprised," Fís mutters, nabbing a piece of bacon straight from Isaac's hand. Stiles flicks a bit of egg at her. It lands on Isaac's lap. 

"But seriously. I screwed up. The details on how I screwed up are a little blurry, but I did and you all seem pretty terrified of whatever it is that I did. Which begs the question, why are you here?"

The pack members all avoid his gaze until Isaac speaks up. Of all of them, he seems the least afraid of Stiles. Vaguely, Stiles remembers keeping Isaac out of the crossfire, because of something to do with him not wanting to be a part of the plan. "Long story short, Scott's an idiot and we ditched him."

"Hear, hear." Derek sounds fat too deadpan for that to be a joke. 

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "I don't disagree with Scott's idiocy, but that doesn't exactly explain why you're here."

"We were wondering if Derek would accept us into his pack," Boyd says quietly. "He's still an alpha, after all."

"Hesaidwehadtoaskyoubutwetotallyunderstandifyoudon'twantusinyourtownanymoreafterwhatwedid--"

"Erica, chill. I understood about half of that," Stiles chuckles a bit, reveling in the fact that his friends are still his friends after all this.

Erica takes a deep breath before speaking much slower. "Derek said he was okay with it, but we needed your permission as well, as the alpha's mate. We totally get it if you don't want us in your pack after what we did to you, though."

It's a strange thing, having a responsibility like this. Like, his friends' lives literally depend on the words he says next but he's not quite sure what to say. "Did you make your own decisions?"

He's asking each of them individually, and they seem to understand that. Again, it's Isaac that speaks first. "No. I was ordered to do it."

"I did," Erica says honestly. "I didn't like it, but I didn't want the alpha to get angry."

Stiles nods and looks at Boyd. The man stares back at him, all dark eyes and mystery. For all the years they've known each other, Stiles has never managed to get a good read on him beyond that he's a good person and is very devoted to Erica. 

"My alpha gave a command. I followed it. That doesn't mean I liked it," he says simply. 

 _My alpha._ Not _Scott._  Stiles looks at Derek, who looks back blankly. He's letting Stiles make this choice without bias, not allowing his own opinions to influence him. "Then of course! Just one thing."

Everyone looks at him warily. 

"Stop looking like I'm gonna snap and destroy the world, please." He smiles weakly. "It's Scott and Lydia I'm mad at. You all were just... in the wrong place at the wrong time. Besides, I couldn't magick up a martini right now. I'm wiped, probably for the next couple of weeks. That took a lot out of me."

"Of  _us,_ you mean," Fís huffs, swallowing a piece of Derek's egg.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, heathen," he snarks affectionately.

Because it  _is_ affection. It's affection that's making Fís treat Isaac like an equal even when he's terrified of her. It's affection that makes Derek wrap his arm around Stiles and smile at him like he did before all this started. It's affection that's letting Stiles place the blame where blame is due rather than where it's convenient. He kind of wishes it wasn't affection, because it would be easier that way, but pack has never been easy. Pack has always been about giving each other shit and dealing with each other's shit and not letting each other get away with shit. It's about having each other's back during all the worst days, weeks, months. That's what makes pack different from a group of friends.

Stiles looks at the others, a stronger, more sure smile on his face. "If you agree, then I formally accept you into our pack."

None of them say anything, but he can feel three bonds form, strengthened by magic and by the presence of an alpha, an alpha's mate, and an emissary. Stiles realizes that that's what he is now. He's the emissary of the Beacon Hills pack, that Derek is the alpha. That Scott and Lydia are no longer either of these things: they're just a mage and a packless alpha. And the very large part of Stiles that's still angry, the part that still wants to hunt Scott down and flay him alive thinks  _Good. They deserve it._

**~oOo~**

Isaac can feel it when it happens: the pack bond breaks and a new one forms, even stronger than before. Scott may be a True Alpha, but he's no leader. He uses his power to do what he thinks is best, without any regard for the consequences or the thoughts of others. StilesAndDerek balance themselves out; they work as a team, as a single organism, and aren't afraid to do what needs to be done, especially if it comes down to life or death. The events of yesterday proved that. DerekAndStiles, StilesAndDerek. Neither is perfect, but both are amazing. Scott doesn't have a prayer.

Which is why, when he comes knocking on the door of the loft an hour later with Lydia in tow, demanding their pack back, Isaac actually laughs out loud. Because, in true Scott fashion, didn't think this though in the slightest. 

"You do realize," Derek smirks at the two, "that if you want them back, you have to duel us for them?"

Scott's eyes flash red and he shifts into beta form. "Fine."

Now it's Stiles that's laughing. "No, not us. Alphas fighting just gets too bloody and it's too complicated. It's customary for the emissaries of both packs to fight it out."

Stiles grins evilly at Lydia, who blanches. "Think you're up for the challenge, sweetie? I didn't quite get to finish what I had planned for you yesterday." 

They don't hear from Scott or Lydia again for a long time, which is fine with them. Years later, when the pack grows more and more powerful and gains a reputation for its quick, clean battles and its superjuiced emissary, they'll all know that they made the right choice. Years later, when John is killed by a rogue alpha and Stiles nearly loses it again, they won't regret it. Years later, when DerekAndStiles adopts for the first time, they'll be glad they picked this pack. Because even if Stiles is too powerful, and even if Derek has a bit of a temper, they pick this pack every day. StilesAndDerek and Erica and Boyd and Isaac are the Hale Pack, and they've had some ups and some downs, but they start strong and they'll keep that trend, until death do them part.

 _Because_ , Isaac realizes, _that's what pack is supposed to do._

**Author's Note:**

> Title form "Miss Missing You" by Fall Out Boy
> 
> No copyright intended
> 
> Celtic translations:  
> ~ _Lig go craiceann gan a bheith sracadh. Ní chuid fola aon mharcanna. Cé go buille siad dó, a ligean ní bhraitheann air pian. Ná lig a chnámha a bhriseadh agus mar sin féin déan iarracht siad, a mhilleadh air lig dó riamh bás . Lig dó riamh bás! Lig go craiceann nach a torn . Lig seasamh fuil gan aon_ /Let that not be ripped skin. His blood does not leave any marks. Although they beat him, let him not feel pain. Do not let his bones break and anyway they try to destroy him, let him never die. Let him never die!  
> ~ _Bí mo shúile_ /Be my eyes.


End file.
